


We Should Meet in Air

by Fire_Sign



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, MFMM Year of Quotes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 09:00:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14516985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/pseuds/Fire_Sign
Summary: Two years after Phryne left Melbourne a third time, she crosses paths with Jack Robinson once more. For May's MFMM Year of Quotes challenge





	We Should Meet in Air

**Author's Note:**

> Right, so I had an idea that sort of pulled on two of the three quotes (and really, the third a little bit as well), but the finished product really doesn't resemble any of them muchly. But still, here we go. From the quotes “We should meet in another life, we should meet in air, me and you.” ― Sylvia Plath and Dorothy Parker's [A Very Short Song](https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-very-short-song/).

Phryne was heading down the station steps, her mind focused on the curious string of robberies that had called her there, when a familiar motion caught the corner of her eye. The instinct, as always, was to turn, smile, give a delighted “Hello, Jack”; it passed in half a second, half a heartbeat, as it always did, but the accompanying ache in her chest never got easier.

It was never him.

Not, she thought for probably the hundredth time in two years, that it would make a bit of difference if it was. They had made the choices they needed to make, both of them. She rarely thought of it now, except in these little moments where her mind caught some familiarity in a stranger’s walk, a passing scent, in the tilt of a head or the timbre of a laugh, and reminded her of the price she’d paid.

“Miss Fisher.”

She turned, properly, willing her expression to remain blank, her mind in turbulent denial.

_He_ was there, three steps apart, remarkably unchanged—the same hat she’d bought him after Maiden Creek, the coat she’d teased him a hundred times would wear away one day, the familiar watch on his wrist. Even the tie was one she’d seen before.

“Hello, Jack,” she said, and if her voice lacked the delight she’d imagined… well, it was a surprise.

“Are you....” he shifted, looked at his hands. “Collins didn’t mention you were working the Addison case?”

The name was familiar, though the specifics were not. A body on Bondi beach, she thought; there’d been something in the morning paper earlier this week.

“I’m not,” she said, tried to smile. It was more tremulous than she cared for.  “Dot didn’t mention that you were in Sydney.”

He coughed.

“I doubt Mrs. Collins is aware,” he said, glancing up and down the street. “It’s not been widely publicised. Could I buy you some lunch?”

“I can buy my own lunch,” Phryne said, lips twitching in amusement, “but you’re welcome to join me.”

He nodded and they walked in silence towards the small cafe on the corner; Phryne resisted the urge to study him, to ask questions, to wrap her hand around his bicep and lean in as they walked to make some sly aside that would tilt his lips downwards in that endearing smile she’d never quite found in another man.

They found a quiet table near the back, ordering coffee and sandwiches, and shifting awkwardly at the easiness. The silence stretched, filled with all the things they’d said before.

 “I won’t be here long,” he offered.

 “The Addison case?”

Jack nodded. “It was similar to an incident in Melbourne, before…” Before Dot had followed Phryne to Sydney, and Jack’s trusted constable had followed Dot. “Collins called me in.”

“Was it ever solved?”

“No. We had a suspect, but no arrest.”

He said it simply, as if she didn’t know how those unsolved cases weighed on him. As if, when it had come to it, he hadn’t chosen the pursuit of justice over her, just as much as she’d chosen her freedom over him. It had been a glorious 18 months though, before the situation had become untenable.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll resolve it quickly,” she said.

He smiled at her certainty, lifting his coffee to his lips; the motion was so endearingly familiar, the sight of white china engulfed by tanned hands half-forgotten by time.

“How are you?” she asked.

“I’m well,” he said, paused as he searched for something neutral to say. “We finally renovated the interview room.”

She nodded, her chest tight. The mingling familiarity and wrongness was like a gown that no longer fit.

“And is there…”

She knew there wasn’t, but she still trailed off, unable to ask.

“Briefly,” he said, understanding her question all the same. “But it seems my lot to love women with their own ambitions, and it didn’t last.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugged.

“Don’t be. I knew the risks.”

“I’m not sure that makes it any easier, Jack,” she said.

“No,” he agreed quietly. “But what is the alternative?”

He’d asked her the same question as they’d lain in her bed, the night of his suspension. The night he’d been given an ultimatum from his superiors—end this public, scandalous affair by whatever means necessary, or lose his position entirely. Her answer now was the same as it had been then.

“Nothing, I suppose.”

They’d tried to find one, but each option had seemed worst than the last—a denial of the relationship, held under cover of darkness like some shameful secret; a marriage neither of them was inclined towards, no matter how much they loved each other; a twenty-year career left behind, a sense of purpose that had been his most constant companion lost. She’d loved him enough to let him go, and taken her aching heart to Sydney—she’d never been good at resisting temptation.

She glanced at the table top, the carefully buffed wood gleaming softly, and realised their hands had sought each other out even now, even knowing what was to come, fingers interlaced without thought, without conscious choice. It made the small ache inside of her vast, and it took all her willpower not to cling harder; she asked questions instead, about Melbourne and his job and the case that had brought him to Sydney, and answered the ones he posed. He was happy with his life, and so was she. She had missed this connection as much as everything else.

“We were good together,” she said, when the coffee was gone, the lunch no more than a few crumbs on a plate. It was a scab she shouldn’t pick, but couldn’t resist. “Weren’t we?”

“In every way that mattered to me,” he said; his thumb swept against the back of her hand, an intimacy she’d not felt in some time.

“But not in the way we needed to be.”

He sighed heavily, his lips twisting.

“No.”

_We could be good together again, just for one night._ It would be a simple invitation, both of them knowing where they stood; and while it would break her heart anew to see him leave, it would be worth it for the new memories that came with it. But another memory scrambled forward, of that last night, of how close he’d been to choosing her, even though both of them knew what it would cost. The look in his eye, the glide of his hand against her hip, the scent of pomade and sex she’d never quite managed to recreate with another lover. The way he’d swallowed, strained to say the words until she’d kissed him again, willing him to understand. No, there were few things worse than breaking another person’s heart; she swallowed the invitation.

She squeezed his fingers and pulled away, dropping her hand onto her lap.

“Thank you,” she said, standing, “for lunch. I should…”

“Go?”

“Yes. I should go. Best of luck solving your case. If you need—” she pressed her lips together, wondering when she’d become this easily flustered.

He tilted his head in that same endearing way.

“It was good to see you, Miss Fisher.”

She smiled, awkwardness gone for a moment; this, at least, was simple.

“You too,” she said sincerely. “Goodbye, Jack.”

She turned back as she reached the cafe door, and for a moment she imagined other lives—where they could be together without judgment, or when their priorities had been able to shift just enough they could find a way. Lives where love alone could be enough. They were welcome dreams, but still dreams; she had acted on facts, weighed the evidence and drawn conclusions, made the only decision possible. And however certain it was the right decision, she knew there would always be a part of her watching for him from the corner of her eye.

She could live with that.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Present, Tense](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14607495) by [aurora_australis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurora_australis/pseuds/aurora_australis)




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